


Poisonous Touch

by DarkAlpha67



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, After-effects of the attack, Beta Derek Hale, Bruises, Emotionally Traumatised Derek, Emotionally Traumatised Stiles, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Mention of Scott McCall - Freeform, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Nogitsune Trauma, Possessed Stiles Stilinski, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 08:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11847513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAlpha67/pseuds/DarkAlpha67
Summary: He stopped outside his door, a specific fragrance of electricity and honey met him. It should’ve be an irritation to his wolf but instead of cringing, his heart spiked and he jerked forward, ripping opened the door with his werewolf strength, the grinding of metal hurting his ears.His eyes was drawn to, by instinct alone, the lone form standing there, his long, lean figure illuminated by the red-orange light seeping through the expansive windows.“Stiles?” He voiced cautiously.Stiles spun around, his pale face awash of any color, darkening the already heavy bags under his eyes. “Derek?” He gasps, his whiskey eyes brimmed with tears as they landed on him.





	Poisonous Touch

Derek felt exhausted. His mind was racing, his senses were haywire, a violent blend of anger, pain, anxiety and fear. Even as he walked toward his loft doors, his chest tightened, a painful reminder that something was awry.

But, just as he stopped outside his door, a specific fragrance of electricity and honey met him. It should’ve be an irritation to his wolf but instead of cringing, his heart spiked and he jerked forward, ripping opened the door with his werewolf strength, the grinding of metal hurting his ears.

His eyes was drawn to, by instinct alone, the lone form standing there, his long, lean figure illuminated by the red-orange light seeping through the expansive windows.

“Stiles?” He voiced cautiously.

Stiles spun around, his pale face awash of any color, darkening the already heavy bags under his eyes. “Derek?” He gasps, his whiskey eyes brimmed with tears as they landed on him.

Relief flood through him, a warm sensation that sunk deep into him, ridding his body of the aching pain he had been experiencing since Stiles had been reported missing by the Sheriff.

“Oh thank God.”

A body collided with his, arms branded around Derek’s neck and the older man returned the embrace fervently. His eyes closed with great solace as he felt the steady beating of Stiles’ heart reverberate through him.

Derek reached up, tangled his fingers through Stiles’ messy strands, holding the young man as close as humanly possible.

“Shit. We were so worried.”

Stiles sobbed, hot tears burning against the skin of Derek’s neck. “I was so scared. I woke up and I didn’t know where I was. I followed… It led me here. I knew you’d be… but then I—“ He spoke incoherently.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Derek said to him.

Slowly, Stiles pulled away from him, his hands coming up to hold onto Derek neck and his forehead fell forward, pressing against his, the salty scent of tears mingling with the pungent smell of fear and anxiety that had surrounded Stiles since he started having those bad dreams.

“I’m safe now… I’m safe now.” He kept muttering under his breath.

Though Derek was remarkably surprised that Stiles had sought him out of everyone, he wasn’t going to turn the human away. His ever growing feelings for Stiles hindered him of the power to deny him the simplest of things.

Reaching up, he cupped Stiles face and terrified brown eyes met his. “It’s okay, alright? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Stiles nodded shakily, tear tracks clear on his cheeks.

“Now I’m gonna call your dad, to let him—“

“NO!”

Derek jerked back at the sudden outburst. He stared at Stiles who shook his head rapidly, his eyes flickering back and forth, a plea reflecting in them.

“Please don’t call him. Please.” He tugged Derek closer, drawing his face nearer. “Please. I just want to be here with you. No one else…”

Uncertainty filled him at that statement but before he could voice his doubts and that Stiles should call his father and Scott, who were no doubt going out of their minds worrying about him, a pair of lips pressed against his.

Sweet, soft pillows sucked on his bottom lip and his mind shut off. His eyes fell shut at the shiver that ran down his spine from the contact. His hand dropped, gravitating to Stiles’ waist, tugging him closer, his fingers flexing and squeezing.

His mind raced, and with clouded thoughts a feeling nagged in the back of his subconscious but with the tilt of Stiles’ head and the deepening of his kiss, his thoughts diminished before it became comprehensible.

He kissed Stiles back with ardor, tasting those lips he had yearned to feel for months since he had finally admitted it to himself that that growing warmth he felt in his chest was no longer due to withheld irritation but fondness and…

Then Stiles bit down on his bottom lip and let out a deep throaty moan. A cold chill filled Derek, pushing away any warmth encompassing his body and the werewolf pulled away instantly, his lips leaving Stiles’ in a wet pop.

His mind, ridden by the overwhelming feelings Stiles induced within him, he found himself staring into Stiles’ eyes, taking in the red rimmed eyes, the blown pupils, the bruised lips and most of all the questioning eyes.

Stiles’ hands tightens around his neck. “Derek, what—“

Derek forced his head back. “You’re not Stiles.” He stated, his mind finally cleared.

He knew something was amiss with Stiles the instant he said he didn’t want him to call his dad and then the kiss…

Brown eyes widen in shock and the hand tightened even further around his neck. With his eyes taking on a glistering reflect, something tugged at Derek’s heart, making him doubt his assessment.

And then the glistering eyes hardened and fingers dug into the side of his neck and in a flash, a force slammed against the bridge of his nose. He felt it flair up as a white light blinded him for a second.

He stumbled back in shock at the unnatural force but strong hands wrapped themselves around his throat. He was hauled up and was then pummeled to the ground, his chest tightening as the breath got knocked out of him.

“You werewolves and you’re inability to leave well enough alone.” A cold mocking voice reached his ears.

Derek grunted and opened his eyes.

He was met with orbs that he didn’t recognize. Cold, lifeless. It was as if the whiskey shade had darkened into black orbs that looked unnatural on the beautiful mole-dotted face.

He tried to get up and a foot slammed down on his chest, forcing him painfully back down. “I mean here I was, coming to you, because I knew Stiles here loves you and is too cowardice to made the first move. And you!” He grinned down maliciously.

Leaning down, Stiles grasped the front of his shirt, forcing him up. Derek moved to disengage himself from the hold but a hard punch to his gut stopped him.

An icy laugh broke through, drowning out his wheezing gasp. “Oh you, Derek Hale… You know I am in this child’s mind and I can feel the ache he experiences every time he’s in the same breathing space as you. He waited and waited and waited. And nothing.”

“How long?” Derek growled out, wanting so much to lash out but the fear of hurting Stiles froze his body.

“Oh, I’ve been popping up here and there.” Stiles rocked his head from side to side…

No. Not Stiles!

Derek felt his eyes flash, his teeth growing into their pointed beta fangs.

“And now… because he loves you oh so very much.” A sinister smirk spread across Stiles’ visage. “I am going to hurt you… using this body that I know you won’t hurt. Pain is so sweeter after all.”

He was let go for a second before a bony elbow slammed into his jaw followed by a swift fist to the ear. Pain exploded in his skull and even his werewolf abilities wasn’t powerful enough to stop the pang that struck his heart as those cold eyes bore into his and those hands that had always steadied and kept him afloat left him feeling more than just physical pain.

“You’re a loner, right Der?”

“Do _not_ call me that!” He spat, moving to shove the Nogitsune away from him.

The evil Japanese spirit forced Stiles’ lips into a lopsided grin. “Answer me this: With Stiles being the only person willing to allow you in, who would come to check up on you after I have beaten you? And who will be there when I let Stiles take control? Because we both know he will hide as far away from you as he can.”

The Nogitsune reached behind him. With the last remaining sky light bleeding through his windows, the rays reflects off the long, silver blade of the knife the Japanese spirit produced.

Derek stared at it for a beat before his eyes locked with Stiles’, his mind reeling, trying to come up with some way to stop this evil thing without hurting Stiles.

“This is going to be fun.” He sneered at Derek.

A loud powerful, ear splitting Beta roar echoed through the loft just as Nogitsune launched forward and Derek forced that small connected that linked him to Scott to revive, praying that the other werewolf heard him as he jerked back away from the strike only to have his arm sliced and a fist driven into his temple.

 

                                          888888888888

 

It had been two weeks. With the loss of Allison and the arrival of a new were-creature, Derek felt disheveled and lost.

His wounds had long since healed. The cuts that had littered his body, the two broken ribs, the bruises had all vanished but whenever he moved, he felt their lingering presence.

He felt lost with no idea what to do to get back on the right road.

The instant the Nogitsune had been expelled from Stiles, and it, along with the Oni, had been destroyed, the human had not once looked at Derek and that broke him.

Every night he closed his eyes, his mind was assaulted by the same miserable, horrific dream.

 

_Lain broken on the floor of the loft, Derek couldn’t find it in himself to heal his wounds. With every stab, with every blow, with every mocking word that thing spoke using Stiles’ voice, he felt a part of him that was linked to his humanity chip away._

_His wolf rumbled just under the surface, wanting to break out but the singular thought of hurting Stiles stopped him._

_But unlike that day, Stiles’ voice- Not the Nogitsune's but **Stiles’** \- would pound through his head. _

_“Derek, help me!”_

_“Make me stop!”_

_“Stop him!”_

_“Derek!”_

_DEREK!_

 

With that voice ringing in his ears he would lurch up in his bed and take in gulping breathes, trying to calm his pounding heart down as it banged and banged against his chest.

He moved a week after that.

With the memory of Isaac’s words echoing in the walls, with the death of Boyd, his blood coating the floors, forever staining it, Derek knew he couldn’t live there.

Stiles and the Nogitsune had been the last string that had snapped.

Scott had been to see him, and it was he whom told Derek that, including the sleep deprivation, the undernourishment, Stiles had also sustained injuries that were caused when the Nogitsune had used his body to break Derek’s.

Two broken fingers and a sprained wrist…

He had called Cora that day and let her voice drown out those words and then, taking what that thing said to him, he promise himself that was going to keep in touch with her, he was not going to lose her all over again.

Sure, they weren’t the same people but there was no rules that said though Der and Cor were gone that Derek and Cora couldn’t be brother and sister.

He just wished that gaping hole in his chest would vanish.

 

                                           888888888888888                                            

 

He parked outside his new house and his eyes landed on the Jeep before him.

His heart stuttered and tightened as that familiar rhythmic heartbeat reached his ears like a Holy symphony.

He wasted no time and got out, locking the car door.

The Jeep’s driver door opened and out stepped Stiles, in his usual army brown jeans, sneakers and crimson red hoodie. Derek halted in his step as he stared at the younger man, taking in the immediate difference.

Gone were the burdened bags under his eyes, his skin looked healthier, smoother and it no longer looked sickly, with a tingle of rose in his once bluish lips but it was the eyes that hitched Derek’s breath in his throat.

Warm and vibrant whiskey eyes met his hesitantly and slowly that gaping hole shrunk.

And then he flickered his gaze down and he saw the wrist brace and the scabbed knuckles.

“Uh, hi.” Stiles’ voice reached his ears, clear and soft like it was supposed to be.

His shoulder sagged and Derek found that all he could do was nod, his body using all its other functions to relish in the return of that warm feeling that had been absent for three weeks.

“Is, uh, is it okay if I came in?”

Derek nodded once more and then both he and Stiles walked toward his front door. Being this close to Stiles, having his Axe body spray actually reach his nose and register in his mind, created a knot in his stomach, coiling with anticipating and anxiety at what would occur.

He stepped aside and allowed Stiles to enter first, closing the door behind him.

He moved around aimlessly, heading to the kitchen to pour himself and Stiles a glass of water, his hands, he noted, shaking.

“Sorry,” was the first thing he said as he returned to Stiles who was standing stiffly in the living area. “I didn’t ask if you wanted water.”

Stiles gave him a grimace that he was sure was supposed to be a grin. Taking it from him, their fingers brushed and a spark of electricity ran through his arm. Derek moved his hand away the instant Stiles took the glass.

A beat of dense silence fell over them before it was broke by Stiles, who stepped away and placed the glass down on his kitchen table.

“I’m sorry.” He said, his eyes locking firmly on Derek. “I am so fucking sorry for what that thing did to you. I am sorry that it used you to break me. I am sorry that I was the one who—who _hurt_ you like that!” His voice cracked.

Derek stepped forward, his own glass held up by numb fingers. “Stiles—“

“No! Let me say this! I was there, I was there, Derek!” he cried. “I felt my hands beat down on your body. I felt your fear. I felt the bones of your ribs crack under my fists!”

Images of that night flash before his eyes.

Stiles pleading voice echoed in his head.

“And for that I am sorry. I am so so _so_ sorry!”

Derek shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault, Stiles.”

“He came to you… He targeted you because of my feelings. My love for you hurt you.” Stiles almost screamed at him, his voice punctuating every ‘you’ and ‘my’.

“It was not your fault!”

In a sudden moment, Stiles moved toward him and Derek felt his body tense up instantly. Stiles froze in his tracks, his whiskey eyes widening with anguish and remorse, tears building up.

“ _Fuck_.” He groaned in pain, closing his eyes.

With the same curse resounding in his head, Derek shook off his reaction and closed the distance between them. “No, that’s not what that—“

“Yeah it is.” Stiles cut him off, his eyes staring at Derek, soothing him, reviving him because they were Stiles’ eyes.

They were the eyes Derek had always sought since day one. They were the eyes that reflected exactly what Stiles felt and thought.

“No matter the technicalities, I was the one who hurt you.”

Derek reached out instinctively to the unharmed hand and folded it in his. He forced his body to remain calm as he brought the palm up, his eyes fixed on Stiles’, holding it up between them.

“These are not the hands of the person who hurt me,” Derek told him. “And those eyes aren’t the eyes of the thing that stared back at me that day. Okay? They were cold and sick and lifeless and your eyes are _everything_ but that.”

The younger man bit down on his bottom lip, his teeth digging into his flesh as he too froze at Derek’s touch, his whiskey eyes widened further as he waited with baited breath for Derek’s true reaction.

“The Nogitsune hurt you too, Stiles.”

It’s then that a single tear sprung from his eye and trailed down his skin, slow and torturous.

Stiles, ignoring his own tears, opened his hand and hesitantly reached over for Derek. The werewolf stood his ground as the palm cupped his jaw, soft and soothing, and he saw Stiles wince when felt the involuntary jolt of him clenching his jaw at the touch.

Stiles took one step forward and leaned over, his face drawing closer and closer, and Derek kept his eyes locked with Stiles’, wanting to look into those eyes that belong only to Stiles and no one else.

A warm breath fanned against his lips and still Derek refused to close his eyes, wanting his body to understand what his mind already knew.

This was Stiles!

Stiles wouldn’t hurt him.

The touch of lips against his was barely felt and whiskey eyes remained locked with his. His heart swelled but his body withdrew. Derek moved his lips, kissing Stiles back briefly and that small exchange was enough for them both.

Stiles pulled back and Derek pulled him toward, embracing him like he should have been done that day. He wrapped his arms firmly around the man who had claimed his heart that, even when his body was telling it not to, spiked and jolting with joy and love at finally having Stiles near him.

“I’m so sorry.” A broken whisper drifted through his ear as an arm curled around his neck and as fingers clung to his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault and we will work through this, okay?”

Stiles gave him a watery, croaky laugh. “Promise?”

“… On my life.”


End file.
